Savage Curses
by Ariel D
Summary: Jarlaxle seeks the Cleansing Stone, but acquiring the Stone comes with a price. In the process, Jarlaxle and Entreri both have to face their inner fears. Set post-SotS.
1. Chapter 1

**Savage Curses**

By Ariel-D

_Description: Jarlaxle seeks the Cleansing Stone, but acquiring the Stone comes with a price. In the process, Jarlaxle and Entreri both have to face their inner fears. Set post-SotS._

_Disclaimer: Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle belong to WotC and RAS. No profit is being made._

_A/N: Warnings for brief sexual violence. Contains some fluff and some rather stiff irony._

_Set after_ Servant of the Shard._ Pushes against what comes afterward.  
_

* * *

**Chapter One**

The clang of metal ringing against metal filled the air. Artemis Entreri held in a growl as the disembodied sword attacked him; he hated fighting wizards. He slashed through the magical sword, dispelling it, only to find a swarm of magical missiles headed his way. He sheathed his dagger and switched Charon's Claw to his left hand, catching the missiles with his gauntlet and hurling them back at his opponent, Fannagrin.

Fannagrin laughed and deflected them. "I see you're no novice to fighting a wizard. I'll be interested to study that gauntlet of yours once you're dead."

"I'll be interested to study your intestines once I spill them," Entreri retorted, circling the wizard.

Fannagrin fired acidic green arrows at Entreri, who sent those back as well. When Fannagrin dodged the arrows, they hit the tavern's bar, melting part of the counter and two bar stools. The tavern's occupants had vacated quickly when Fannagrin had entered and opened fire on Entreri, so now the assassin faced the wizard alone.

Entreri was not amused in the slightest to be in this situation. Granted, Jarlaxle and he intended to steal a key to a treasure from Fannagrin, but they'd barely launched their plan when Fannagrin had shown up in town and attacked. This left Entreri with two basic questions: one, how had Fannagrin known to attack him; and two, where was Jarlaxle?

The plan had been simple enough. Jarlaxle had discovered Fannagrin's daughter living in town, and he had intended to seduce the woman and get her to show them the back entrance to Fannagrin's tower. Entreri had been required to vacate their inn room, of course, so he'd decided to get a light supper at a nearby tavern. About the time Jarlaxle should have been taking the woman to bed, though, Fannagrin had arrived.

This left Entreri with two basic scenarios to imagine: Fannagrin's daughter had run off and warned her father, somehow slowing Jarlaxle down to buy herself time, or Jarlaxle had successfully carried out his plan and was right now acquiring the key. Both options had problems, however. In the first scenario, Jarlaxle would be hard to injure or trap; the second scenario didn't explain how Fannagrin knew to attack Entreri.

Entreri's suspicious nature left him wondering if he'd been double-crossed, however. Although Entreri wasn't blind to the fact Jarlaxle was offering him friendship, he also suspected that the friendship would only extend so far. And Jarlaxle certainly had a way of dragging Entreri into wild situations that seemed entirely pointless - until Jarlaxle suddenly turned up some magical artifact he secreted away to Kimmuriel.

"You can deflect minor spells with no trouble," Fannagrin commented, weaving magical energy with his hands. "But what about something like . . . this?" He hurled a bolt of blue lightning at Entreri.

Entreri caught the bolt and threw it right back. In truth, he didn't know the extent of the gauntlet's power, and he didn't really want to find out. As Fannagrin dived to the side, avoiding the lightning, Entreri charged, swinging his sword at the wizard in a deadly arc.

The wizard raised his hands quickly, and a giant hand made of green energy appeared. It deflected the sword, giving Fannagrin enough time to escape. As he retreated, floating round shields appeared all around him. "I feel as though I'm at a wizard fair again," he said. "I haven't used so many spells in combat in years."

Entreri circled him again, taking in the shields and working them into his calculations. "I'm complimented," he said dryly. He took a swing at one of the shields, testing it. Green sparks flew off, but the shield held. He suspected he'd have to rain a dozen or more hits on each shield to defeat it, so he bore down on Fannagrin, slashing the same shield repeatedly.

Fannagrin laughed and threw fireballs. The fireballs swooped around the shields, heading straight for Entreri.

Entreri ducked the first one, which crashed through the tavern window and exploded in the street. He deflected the second one, barely, and sent it sideways. He didn't dare throw it back at Fannagrin, after all, with those shields in place. The far side of the room erupted in flames. He now had two choices: defeat Fannagrin immediately or try to run. The fire would spread quickly, and more than that, the room would fill with smoke. He charged Fannagrin again, whacking at his target shield until it gave and then thrusting his sword directly at Fannagrin's chest.

"Too slow," Fannagrin said from across the room.

Entreri's sword slipped right through the illusionary Fannagrin's chest, dispersing it.

The real Fannagrin stood across the room, unharmed. "It's interesting how the eye is deceived, isn't it? Technically, you saw a flicker when I replaced myself and turned invisible, but your eye was unable to convey that information to the brain." As he spoke, he wove magic with his hands. "But enough talk. Now to finish you off."

But then Fannagrin's eyes widened, and blood spurted out of his chest, soaking his robe with a dark bloom. He fell forward.

The wizard's collapse revealed Jarlaxle. The drow mercenary calmly wiped his sword on Fannagrin's back, shortened it back into a dagger, and drew an ice wand. He walked around the tavern, putting out flames.

Entreri sighed and sheathed his sword. He hadn't realized he'd been tensing up his shoulders until they suddenly dropped. _Well, he's not dead, and he's not gone forever._ The two most extreme potential outcomes had been taken care of.

Jarlaxle finished dousing the flames and turned to the assassin. "I imagine you've had a trying time if every moment with Fannagrin was like that one. Did he spend his time lecturing you?"

"Not precisely." Entreri hopped over the counter and located a mug. He poured himself some honeymead ale and took a swig. "More like he assumed he'd succeed in killing me."

Jarlaxle crossed the room and poured himself a glass of red wine. He took a sip and shook his head. "Fannagrin succeeded in many things for long enough that he thought no one would catch him. For instance, the ruse about having a daughter." He glanced at Entreri. "And yes, it was a ruse. Fannagrin was enamored with illusions all his life. Before becoming a recluse, he would put on shows for the townspeople every Midsummer's Eve. He would act out entire plays for them using illusions. He could make illusions that were so real they had substance. They could talk, interact with the world around them, and even seem to have independent thoughts and feelings."

The drow mercenary shook his head and sipped his wine. "The daughter was one of those. All illusions have a secret connection to the person who creates them. I believe this is how he instantly knew what we were up to and was able to track you down before I realized the woman was a fake."

Entreri leaned against the bar, shocked at Jarlaxle's explanation, although he didn't show it. "An illusion powerful enough to trick you and your magical items? It hardly seems possible."

"The low levels of magical energy that the illusion gives off mimic the static energy of magical items," Jarlaxle said. "Only when she claimed that her necklace was not magical did I understand what I was dealing with." He shrugged. "The only difficulty after that was discovering the source of the illusion and the reason for it. When I also learned Fannagrin's skill with illusion from a story told by the innkeeper, I knew that Fannagrin had created his daughter. Therefore, I came to your aid."

Jarlaxle wagged a finger at Artemis. "As for my magical items, there is a reason why high level illusions fool people. High level illusions are made of living energy. In a sense, Fannagrin split off part of himself to create his daughter. My items could tell me that I was dealing with a living being and a source of magic. That did not clarify matters enough to make Fannagrin's daughter immediately suspicious."

Entreri took another sip of his ale. "I see." He raised an eyebrow at Jarlaxle. "Some items are more trouble than they're worth, it would seem. Although since Fannagrin is now dead, I suppose we may retrieve the key and whatever else his tower has to offer."

Jarlaxle nodded. "I have a few clues about where the back door is hidden, but we shall still need to search." Entreri's words echoed in his mind: _Some items are more trouble than they're worth . . . But this one, if it exists, will be worth the trouble._ However, if he could beat the odds and get his hands on the item he wanted, then he would be able to stop his cycle of misfortune forever.

Entreri nodded in return. "Very well." He finished off his ale and thunked down the mug. "Shall we?"

Jarlaxle grinned and tossed down enough coin to cover their drinks. "Indeed." 

* * *

Fannagrin's tower was west of the town, a castle-like structure of grey stone blocks and a conical roof of red shingles. There was a solitary window near the top, marking Fannagrin's study. Somehow, they needed to get up there. They had encountered the tower's magical defenses previously; among other things, no one could fly in the vicinity of the tower.

They circled around to the back of the tower, where there seemed to be a seamless wall. Jarlaxle took a jeweler's loop from his hat and used it, searching the wall inch by inch. Suddenly, he stopped short. "Aha!" He straightened and passed the loop to Artemis. "Look there. A symbol of a grinning gargoyle." He pointed to a particular stone block.

Entreri examined the stone in question, which sure enough sported a grinning gargoyle. "I take it the door is here, then. Or connected to this stone somehow."

Jarlaxle nodded. He took the loop back and knocked on the symbol of the gargoyle three times. A doorway materialized in front of them. Jarlaxle opened the door and let both of them in. As soon as he shut the door, it disappeared. They were now in a plain room with a staircase winding upwards. The tower was lit up with lamps hanging on the wall.

"There are no defenses on the inside, only the outside," Jarlaxle commented, climbing the stairs. "Yet another sign of arrogance from Fannagrin."

Entreri snorted. "Convenient, that. All the easier to plunder."

"Indeed," Jarlaxle said cheerfully.

They found that the tower was all stairs until the top floor. There was a humble bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and dining room combined, and the study with the window. Jarlaxle left Artemis to the exploration of the bedroom while he searched the study. They were to call out if they were the one that discovered the key.

Entreri searched through every drawer and cubby. He pocketed quite a few items as he went, discovering several fine pieces of jewelry in silver and gold as well as with precious gems. He also found an ivory-handled knife, which he kept for himself, but he didn't find the key.

Jarlaxle found many magical scrolls in the study, most of them in the drawers of the desk. In the bottom drawer, underneath some loose feathers and other small trinkets, he found a large brass key. He recognized the design of it immediately. "Found it," he called.

He waited for Entreri to enter the room and held the key aloft. "See the design of the oak leaves? It matches the lock on the dungeon door."

Entreri nodded. The treasure in question was stored in the dungeon of an abandoned fortress to the west of the village. "Do you wish to plunder the rest of the tower first or just head out?"

"The tower can wait," Jarlaxle said. "The point of this journey lies ahead."

"Very well." Entreri hardly cared one way or another. Material things had never awed him. The only thing he'd ever coveted was the sword that now hung at his side, and that had never been a matter of greed. In fact, the only reason he had it now was a matter of practicality.

Jarlaxle led the way out. He knew that acquiring this magical item was dangerous for reasons his companion could not comprehend. If he told Entreri those reasons, it would likely only make the danger worse. _Soon. Soon, being my partner will not be half as dangerous._

* * *

The abandoned fortress was two hours away. Most of the fortress had crumbled, succumbing to the elements. It was only the underground vault that had survived and would survive still. The fortress' wizard had locked away an item he perceived to be cursed and erected safeguards all around the chamber. The wizard had been Fangarin Ironstaff. Or, as he came to be known after the fall of the kingdom two hundred years ago, Fannagrin.

One of those safeguards was the door, a single point of entry locked with a special key.

That was why Jarlaxle had known that Fannagrin would never give over the key; the wizard believed he was protecting the world from something evil. Fannagrin had no way of knowing there was one person desperate for the power the item held.

Jarlaxle and Entreri walked through the ruins of the castle until they found a stairway down. This stairway ended in an imposing iron door with a large keyhole. The door was decorated in a design of oak leaves, exactly the same as the brass key. Jarlaxle took a deep breath of chilly air and drew the key from his pocket, fitting it to the lock and turning it. The tumblers turning echoed deep within the structure. An eerie green glow illuminated the door.

Jarlaxle opened it. The glow ceased, and the stench of stale air rushed forth.

Inside, Jarlaxle saw an ordinary stone chamber with a single wooden door at the far side. The chamber was not particularly large, and it appeared to be empty. He didn't see any traps or secret doors. Being an elf, his senses were sharp enough to pick up such things.

However, Fannagrin had been a master of illusion.

"Allow me to go first," Jarlaxle said. He pulled out a pouch of dust and gently blew a handful of the fine blue powder through the door.

The whole room flared white. Then the far door burst open, and enormous spiders and stumbling zombies poured through.

Jarlaxle let out a yell and whipped out his fire wand, spraying the room with flames. The zombies caught on fire like kindling, and the spiders shrieked and danced in pain. Smoke roiled through the room, choking Jarlaxle with the stench of burning rotten flesh and hair. He coughed, covering his mouth and nose with one hand. "Not again." This brought back the memory of being trapped in Gromph's dimensional pocket with a burning zombie.

Entreri drew his sword and dagger, unnerved by the spiders. He had always hated spiders, and his stay in Menzoberranzan had only deepened his disgust. He now killed every spider he saw just because he could. However, the spiders were curling up on their backs, their legs twitching. Entreri ended up holding one arm against his nose and mouth. "Do try not to kill us with smoke inhalation."

Jarlaxle was too busy having a coughing fit to respond. He switched out his wand for ice and sprayed the room as a fresh wave of spiders and zombies poured through, trampling the damaged ones. "We have to search for a way to turn them off. This is a spell." He waded in, spider legs crunching underfoot. Zombies that were only half frozen clutched at his ankles. He kicked them away and searched for anything magical, using his jeweler's loop. There was nothing. He ducked his head out of the far door and into the hallway.

As soon as he did so, everything in the small room disappeared except for him. Even the ice and the smoke. Jarlaxle froze. Then he checked his wands. They had all their charges back, as if he hadn't drawn them.

He slowly turned to Entreri. "It was all an illusion . . . even everything we did."

Indeed, Entreri's weapons were back in their sheaths.

Entreri glanced down, frowning. "Why zombies and spiders? That's a bizarre mix." He was suspicious.

"Because you loathe spiders, and I loathe undead," Jarlaxle said lightly. He stepped out into the hallway and held the door open just in case. "Are you coming?"

Entreri didn't move. "If the spell generated exactly what we don't like, isn't that a problem? Some of the things I don't like are insanely dangerous, and I assume the same is true for you." Like red dragons, for example.

"But if we know it's an illusion, it can't hurt us," Jarlaxle said. "And if it can't hurt us, then it isn't a very effective trap, now is it? Hopefully this Fannagrin was a one-trick pony, and we can steal our treasure in no time." He wagged a finger. "And if the conditions of the spell are the same every time - in other words, crossing the room and opening the door and traversing beyond will shut the spell off - then we have nothing to worry about."

"Or the conditions of the spell are different every time," Entreri said. "Not to mention that you yourself warned me that an illusion can still kill you." Granted, Jarlaxle had said 'If you believe it's real,' but that was the trouble with illusions: you couldn't tell when they were real or not.

"I will simply search every room that we come to," Jarlaxle said. "I will be able to tell whether the danger is real or not, and I will warn you accordingly." He frowned. "If you don't want to come, you don't have to. You can wait here for me to return or go back to town. I admit that the benefit to this quest is directly mine, although you would see an indirect benefit."

Entreri stared at him with hooded eyes. That admission was more forthcoming than Jarlaxle usually was, and that alone made him wary. Somehow that intensified the danger he imagined was here. "I'll come. I don't want you to fall down a hole when I'm not looking." He smirked at his attempt at levity and joined Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle snorted and shook his head. "Dark elves can levitate, but no matter." He swept the hallway with a detection wand, but the hallway was inert. They reached the door at the end. Jarlaxle took a deep breath and opened it.

Again, an empty chamber. This time, however, it was larger, a rectangular room twice the size of the last. But it was still empty and still had a single wooden door at the far side. Jarlaxle pulled out his pouch of powder. "If this is an illusion, my powder will activate it."

Entreri drew his sword and dagger before the potential spell could be activated. He'd at least like to be genuinely armed this time.

Jarlaxle nodded. He took a pinch of powder and gently blew it. The room flared white, just like before. "The illusion will -"

He didn't have time for the rest. He was suddenly inside the room, and the room was dark except for two spots of light. Eyes. A drow priestess stood before him, dressed in a form-fitting dress that was black with a pattern of white spider webs on it. He stared at her. _What is the illusion of a priestess here for?_ True, priestesses were unpleasant, but he didn't think himself particularly affected by their presence.

Then she began chanting, and a fiery pain drove him to his knees.

Jarlaxle gasped for breath. "This isn't real!" The pain intensified and centered on his hips. His arms were numb. He looked down and in the darkness, in infravision, could see a lump on either hip, straining at the fabric of his pants.

Suddenly, with a spike of agony as though being scalded, he both felt and saw thin, peaked protrusions break through his pants. He screamed.

The priestess continued chanting.

Jarlaxle crawled for the door on the other side of the room. She just watched him, her crimson eyes trained on him.

The protrusions grew, feeling like pokers shoved through his body, dragging on the ground, shaping into legs. Spider legs. Jarlaxle felt his body bloating, his legs swelling. "This isn't happening!"

He scrabbled against the door, trying in vain to stand, and grasped the doorknob. He twisted it and yanked the door open, his body distending, the pain crushing inside of his skull. With a groan of horror, he crawled through the doorway, only able to use his arms to move himself, his grotesquely changing body dragging behind him.

Then he felt nothing but cool stone underneath him. The pain was gone. After a moment, he thought he could stand.

But he was alone.

* * *

In one moment, Entreri was listening to Jarlaxle talking about the illusion; in the next, he was abruptly standing in the room alone.

A puff of breath was the only warning he got. He spun, leveling his weapons, but an explosion of pain ripped through his arm. A great weight crashed into him, knocking his sword from his hand, and he was thrown to the floor. On top of him was a massive wolf, its eyes glowing, its teeth clamped on his arm, filling him with searing agony.

Entreri struck with his dagger, but the wolf released him, jumping away and then circling. Entreri forced himself to his feet, taking the dagger with his right hand and hoisting Charon's Claw with his left. "Not real," he muttered, stepping sideways toward the door on the far side of the room.

The wolf kept pace with him, snarling and growling. Then, to Entreri's horror, its body began elongating, its nuzzle shortening. Bones began popping and cracking, and the assassin didn't have to see the transformation complete to know what it meant.

"Werewolf," he hissed, still edging his way toward the door. If this had been real, he would have fallen on his own sword. He could have never suffered through life in the thrall of a beast's boiling blood always trying to emerge and take control.

A tall, hairy man appeared, naked. He sneered at Entreri. "You will be, too," he said, gesturing to the bite wound.

"Not real," Entreri repeated, making a dash for the door. The man charged him, but Entreri jerked open the door and burst into the hallway beyond.

Jarlaxle grabbed Entreri's arm and yanked the assassin through the moment he saw his partner emerging. Then he let out his breath, dropped Entreri's arm, and continued mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. "That was somewhat worse than the first." In spite of his best efforts to control himself, he hadn't stopped sweating yet.

"Dare I ask?" Entreri said. He'd never seen Jarlaxle so shaken up, and he hadn't seen him sweat like this since battling the temptations of the Shard.

Jarlaxle swallowed and put on a tight smile. "I was transforming . . . " He shook his head and corrected himself. "The illusion was that I was transforming into a drider." The last word came out a harsh whisper. Suddenly, he was angry. What right did Fannagrin have to make him experience this? "I would rather die than transform into such a beast. I would no longer be myself. All of my memories would be forfeit. Erased."

Entreri noticed the theme. "I was transforming into a werewolf," he said. "The only thing worse would have been a wererat, but admittedly that would've been harder for me to believe." He made a mental note about the driders. He had seen a few during his tenure in Menzoberranzan and working with drow. They'd struck him as horrible, but Jarlaxle's comment that he would no longer be himself told him much.

Jarlaxle calmed at knowing there was a generic theme to the experience. He'd merely been unlucky. He mopped his forehead again and stowed his handkerchief. "A fate worse than death for you also, I imagine." He walked towards the door he saw at the end of the hallway. Hopefully, this would be a pattern: room, hallway, room, hallway. The halls gave them a chance to recover.

"Indeed," Entreri muttered, following Jarlaxle. He was beginning to wonder if this item might prove to be more trouble than it was worth after all.

Jarlaxle opened the door and readied the powder, feeling he knew that the next room would be an illusion trap, too. "Get ready. This may be more unpleasant still, khal abbil." He wished briefly that he could explain how important this magical artifact was. If he could only obtain it, he would be free of his people's curse forever. The cycle of misfortune would stop. He could finally come out of the shadow of Lloth and live a life the same as the people of the Surface.

But that explanation involved history, the gods, and magic. It was simpler to obtain the artifact and demonstrate its affect.

"Goody," Entreri said dryly. He realized then that his sword and dagger would do no good. The illusion could make it seem like he drew them; it could make it seem like he sheathed them. It was pointless. Despite that, he couldn't bring himself to put away his weapons.

Jarlaxle took a deep breath and blew the powder into the room.

The room flared white.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: __**Warning for brief sexual violence.**__ And fluff._

_We went with infravision, not dark vision._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Jarlaxle took a deep breath and blew the powder into the room.

The room flared white.

Suddenly, he wasn't standing in the dungeon anymore.

Instead, he was in a forest clearing under bright starlight, and the scent of blood filled the air. Jarlaxle's vision struggled between infravision and normal vision, catching flitting dark shapes and drow warriors illuminated by their heat. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gripped the longswords in his hands.

Longswords. He looked down and saw a younger self, his body clad in traditional black armor.

He glanced up in time to see his companions slice through a moon elf child, head flying and body tumbling to the ground.

Jarlaxle averted his gaze, nauseated. _Where is the exit? Where is it?_ There was a vaguely door-like marking on a tree. _Gods, I hope that's it._

He dropped his swords and stumbled across the battlefield, the grass slick with entrails and blood. All around him, drow warriors carved up screaming faerie elves. His Surface brethren sobbed and pleaded in their own language. Jarlaxle tried to tune it out.

One of the dark elves turned to him and angrily asked him something.

_This is an illusion. It's not real. This is a reenactment of the past._

When the drow struck, Jarlaxle allowed the warrior's sword to pass right through him, so intent was he on reaching the tree with the door pattern on the trunk. He didn't feel a thing. _It is an illusion._ He tripped over roots and scrambled up, feeling sick and half-numb. _Be the exit._

It seemed to take forever to reach the tree. Jarlaxle felt for a doorknob. He couldn't find it. Panic briefly seized him by the throat and shook him. He ripped at the edges of the door with his fingers, banged on it. Finally, his hand chanced on a knot, and he yanked.

Jarlaxle tumbled out of the room and onto the floor. Shocked by his emergence back in the dungeon, it took him a second to pick himself up.

"That was the past." He spoke to hear his voice echoing off the stone walls. "No more."

No less, either, but the days were over when circumstances would force him to stain his hands with innocent blood. Crenshinibon's treachery would not drag him back into that hell. Nothing would.

He wondered what trouble Entreri would face.

* * *

Entreri stepped into the room with Jarlaxle, weapons at the ready. Statues had suddenly appeared in all four corners of the room, and they opened their eyes, springing to life. "Illusions of stone golems," he said. "Wonderful."

Jarlaxle drew a wand and blasted the golems with wads of green goo. The stone golems tore right through without pausing. He quickly whipped out another wand and tried to freeze the golems in place. They smashed through the ice.

He didn't have time to draw a third weapon.

Entreri launched himself at the first golem, seeing that magic wasn't working. Charon's Claw took a chunk out of the golem's leg, but it swung at him, incapable of feeling pain. Entreri ducked the blow and slashed at its arm. Another chunk flew out, but his headway was slow. Then again, it wasn't real headway, and Jarlaxle and he needed to work their way toward the door.

The other three golems went around him and headed for Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle ran for the door. The golem in the lead grabbed Jarlaxle by the cape and threw him at the wall. Jarlaxle impacted with a grunt and summoned a shield of light between him and the golems. "Artemis, the door!"

The first golem backhanded him, breaking his nose. One of the other two guarded the door, standing in front of it with a stone scowl. The third stood by the first, watching Jarlaxle.

"This isn't real!" Jarlaxle yelled. That didn't seem to be helping him any.

Entreri ducked his golem's swipe as it turned its attention on him again, then headed for the door. The golem there leapt into action, drawing a stone sword and slashing downward with it. Entreri tucked himself into a roll, avoiding the blow.

However, what happened next froze every ounce of blood in Entreri's body. The golem nearest Jarlaxle grabbed him and held him against the wall. The other ripped down the drow's pants and somehow produced an erection. Even as Jarlaxle struggled against the golem trapping him, the other grabbed his hips, forcing its stone protrusion into Jarlaxle's body. The drow's scream rent the air.

Entreri's brain ceased functioning. He didn't even realize he was screaming as well. The tiniest remaining fraction of his logic turned him toward the door instead of rushing the golem raping Jarlaxle. That part of him understood it was an illusion, and he could make it stop if he could get the door open.

"You have to believe," Jarlaxle gasped out. "Go through the golem . . . through the door . . . "

Entreri turned toward the golem blocking his way and decided in his heart it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He refused with every fiber of his being to believe any of it was real. He marched right through the golem and grabbed the knob, twisting it with so much force it was a wonder it didn't break off.

The door opened.

Jarlaxle was on the other side. The drow mercenary grabbed him by the arms and yanked him out of the room. The moment Entreri crossed the threshold, the room was empty. Inert.

Jarlaxle took one look at Entreri's face and wrapped his arms around the assassin.

For a moment, Entreri couldn't comprehend what was happening to him, then he understood Jarlaxle was hugging him. It took him several more seconds to accept that this was all right, and then he finally caught up with the fact Jarlaxle was perfectly fine and whole. That caused such an explosion of unnamable feelings that Entreri embraced him in return.

Jarlaxle hugged him tightly and rubbed his back, relieved at the return embrace. "It's all right. I was tortured in mine as well. Whatever you saw . . . it was not tolerable."

"Decidedly not." Entreri's voice came out thinner than he would have liked. He couldn't remember ever embracing someone outside of sex, and Dwahvel had been the only person he could remember hugging him. Still, he couldn't bring himself to let go right away. The hand on his back was strangely comforting, but more than that, feeling Jarlaxle in his arms underscored for him that the drow was unharmed.

Jarlaxle had never seen his friend so pale. Whatever it was, whatever had seemed to happen, it was a big deal. "Let us rest here a while. You have your tent. If we wish we may retreat into the pocket dimension and recover in comfort. This place is taxing." He knew now that he would have to explain why they were here.

Entreri released Jarlaxle and retrieved the tent. He couldn't make it overly large in the hallway, but it would still be big enough to hold them. "Very well." He tossed the tiny tent replica onto the floor and waited until its base was nearly touching the walls before stopping it. He climbed inside and plopped onto one of the blankets, trying to erase from his mind the image of the previous room.

Jarlaxle followed, and he felt the temperature of the tent rise as they retreated into the dimensional pocket. He took off his hat, bracers, and weapons belt before lying down next to Artemis. He let out a deep sigh. "Had I known the extent of this fortress' defenses, I would never have brought you here without telling you why."

Given the fact the tent wasn't very large, Entreri didn't bother to complain about how close Jarlaxle lay to him. "And the 'why' will make such a difference?"

Jarlaxle was silent for a moment. "Perhaps not to you, which is why you are welcome to stay here until I have traversed the other obstacles. For me, it is life-changing."

Jarlaxle definitely had Entreri's attention. "Life-changing?"

"The drow are cursed," Jarlaxle said softly. He gazed up at the ceiling of the tent, counting the threads in the canvas. "I did not know this until recently. I suspect very few know the truth: when the drow were banished from the Surface, they were also cursed. This curse did not die with that generation because the curse originates with Lloth. Any drow born under Lloth is cursed. The curse, at first, was merely that any drow seeking to return to the Surface would be turned to stone at the rays of the sun."

He swallowed. "However, after a few generations the curse turned inward, turned darker. Lloth ascended as a demon, strengthening the curse on her people. Now the drow are cursed with madness, with sadism and other tainted qualities that result of close association with demons, and with bad luck. One's fortunes - often suddenly - sour, and one dies an excruciating death stripped of all one's accomplishments. Friends die, or circumstances force one to betray their friends. Businesses fail. Magic goes awry. One's enemies miraculously break through all one's defenses."

Jarlaxle forcibly unclenched his jaw. "It does not matter whether one actively worships Lloth. The curse persists. Lloth has a divine - infernal - link to all of her people. Mere mortals cannot break this bond." He glanced at Artemis. "Unless they have the Cleansing Stone. That is what is hidden down here. Anyone who touches the Cleansing Stone is stripped of all their connections to the being that claims spiritual ownership of them."

Entreri understood immediately why Jarlaxle wanted the Stone, even needed it. Were he under a similar curse, he'd stop at nothing to get it lifted. "I see," he murmured. He knew then that he had to stay with Jarlaxle no matter how bad the illusions got. Besides, they were only illusions. They couldn't really hurt him as long as he remembered that. "Very well. We'll continue as soon as you're ready."

Jarlaxle was too surprised to reply for a moment, then gratitude rushed through him. He couldn't remember knowing a person who would risk danger for him. "Yes." Then he clarified, "I think we should rest fifteen minutes more, prepare our minds for the next obstacle. As long as we understand immediately that what we experience isn't real, we should be able to traverse the rooms more quickly." He had no idea how many rooms there were.

Entreri nodded. "The last one was tricky. In the illusion, you were still there, and stone golems appeared suddenly in the rooms. I knew the golems weren't real, but I didn't know you weren't real. After all, in the first illusion, you were really there. Then whether you were real or not became a moot point."

Jarlaxle had guessed as much from Entreri's reaction to him upon reaching the door. He thought for a moment. "Was the illusionary Jarlaxle helpful in any way?"

Entreri had to chuckle at that. "Yes. The illusionary Jarlaxle kept encouraging me to reach the door because it was an illusion."

Jarlaxle grinned. "Then perhaps he was a projection. Kimmuriel once briefly explained to me that illusionary copies of our acquaintances reside in our minds. These copies can reflect our feelings about the people in question and also can represent parts of our minds that are trying to tell us things. I would wager that the Jarlaxle you encountered was in fact a piece of your mind urging you to resist the illusion. Of course I would expect nothing less of Artemis Entreri, one of the most hard-headed people I know."

Entreri wasn't exactly sure how to take that remark. He considered himself determined, but 'hard-headed' was generally an insult. Jarlaxle's phrasing in general didn't suggest an insult, however. Also, he had to think through Jarlaxle's words twice to understand the point Kimmuriel had been making. _Reflect my feelings about Jarlaxle? That?_ But Jarlaxle had said it was probably just part of his own mind talking to him, so Entreri brushed the thought away. "Then I am practical as always," he finally said.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Eminently. I should be honored that my image was allowed to send you an important message in a time of stress. It makes contextual sense, given that we are partners, but still . . . " He grinned again. "I believe we've grown rather fond of each other." And that brought him to a final point about this journey. His grin faded. "That motivates me to act before my time is up. The last time I allowed the cycle of this curse to take its course, I lost my khal abbil."

Entreri was even less sure how to respond to this statement. He wasn't used to the idea of friendship, and he was even less used to having issues of friendship vocalized. On top of that, Jarlaxle had just revealed he'd lost someone he'd genuinely considered a friend and made a comparison to Entreri in the process. "You think you will get me killed?" That wasn't a comforting thought.

Jarlaxle sat up at that. "No." He sighed, scowling at himself. "No. I don't. Because I know we will reach the Cleansing Stone. There is no danger here but illusions, and there are decades to go yet before the descent of the curse. Even if the unthinkable should happen and the Stone is not here, I will find another way." _Why did I disclose that? Of course he's going to think I'll get him killed._ A spike of pain thrust through his chest at that thought. "If nothing else, I'll simply disappear."

Entreri felt that if Jarlaxle left he would return again one day. He doubted very seriously that Jarlaxle would simply disappear from his life. He also doubted that curses had timing on them, especially curses tied to chaotic goddesses. However, they were there to get the Cleansing Stone, so none of that mattered as long as they reached their goal. "As you say, we'll get the Stone."

Jarlaxle nodded and stood. "Let us not waste more time." He exited the tent.

Entreri stood as well, ducking out of the tent and then reducing it to its miniature size and storing it. He hadn't expected his words to make Jarlaxle rush out, but he wasn't sorry to continue. The sooner this was over the better.

Jarlaxle took long strides to the door at the end of the hallway, unceremoniously yanked it open, and pulled out his pouch of magic dust. "Make ready." He took a pinch of powder and blew it, expecting and facing the bright white flare that engulfed the empty room.

. . . And woke up.

Jarlaxle found that he has slipped into Reverie on his throne again. He sighed and stretched. _Why is it that dreams of the past always plague me?_ After all this time, he would have thought his mind would be at rest, would finally accept that those days were over.

He gazed about the familiar throne room, the throne room of he'd visited so often, the throne room he had claimed for himself. Purple and black tapestries hung from the grand walls, open archways leading into other parts of the Baenre compound. Somewhere within these walls his sisters and nieces were diligently at work.

Jarlaxle stood and regarded the ornate throne glittering with black diamonds. How many times had he seen his mother perched here?

Sometimes it seemed like this was a dream, and his travels with Artemis Entreri were the reality.

He sighed again. _Would that that were true._ Coming back to Menzoberranzan had given him no satisfaction.

His servants watched him warily, suspecting one of his moods. He ignored them and paced the broad floor, dark cape dragging behind him. These days, his dress was less colorful and ostentatious and more dignified. Dress befitting the master of the ruling House of Menzoberranzan. Black armor with long, spiked pauldrons and a long piwafwi. He still wore his belt of magical defenses, but the belt was black, with a buckle in the likeness of a spider.

He ran a hand through his hair. Some days he wished he had not given up shaving his head, but as ruler he had to maintain appearances. It was not proper for a drow to shave his head.

"Master Baenre!"

Jarlaxle turned on his heel.

The captain of the guard – a young, fresh-faced male – marched in, followed by four soldiers escorting a cloaked figure in irons.

"A prisoner," the captain explained. "We caught him trying to enter with the Archmage's old mask."

Jarlaxle blinked. "That relic?"

"Yes, Master Baenre." The captain produced a familiar - if beaten up - spider mask.

"I had the defenses changed two centuries ago," Jarlaxle said. "Who would be foolish enough to think that mask would gain them entry to my compound?" He was more curious than irked.

The captain took three steps to the captured figure and yanked his hood down.

Artemis Entreri stood before him, giving him an all-too-familiar look.

Jarlaxle found himself suddenly at a loss.

"A human," the captain said.

Jarlaxle bit back everything that threatened to come out of him and said, "To the dungeon in a private cell. I will interrogate him myself."

It was just a flicker, but Jarlaxle fancied that order earned him a glare.

He waited an hour to come, not wanting to seem unduly interested. When he came into the room, he found Entreri had been strung up on the wall. He winced. "Allow me to make you more comfortable."

Entreri offered no comment. Jarlaxle would rather he'd been snapped at. He used his master key and got Entreri down, freeing the man's wrists.

Entreri rubbed them. "Did I come at a bad time?" he asked dryly.

Jarlaxle felt as though he were caught between two worlds, with Lloth looking eagerly on. "Why are you here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Entreri said.

"This is my home," Jarlaxle said, surprised.

Entreri raised an eyebrow. "And that contents you?"

Jarlaxle turned away and strode to the door, deciding in an instant. "You're getting out of here. I'll have you teleported back to the Surface. It should only take a moment - "

"If you're going to do that, come with me," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle froze. "I can't."

"The great Jarlaxle 'can't' do something?" Entreri asked. "Since when have you grown so humble?"

"It's not humility."

Jarlaxle felt his old companion's frown. "What is it, then?"

"The curse," Jarlaxle whispered. "I told you of it long ago. Nothing could break it. We tried, didn't we? You almost lost your life. I won't endanger you. You'll leave - "

"The Jarlaxle I know wouldn't give up," Entreri said harshly. "You said you wouldn't rest until you were free. Was that a lie? Are you weak after all?"

Jarlaxle spun, fists clenched. "Everyone is weak against Lloth!"

Entreri sneered. "Then you've grown cowardly and pathetic."

"You can't enrage me to the point where I lose my sense," Jarlaxle said.

"Because you've already lost it," Entreri scoffed. "Look around you. Is this where you belong?"

Jarlaxle hesitated. "What do you mean? This is my compound."

Entreri shook his head. "You are blind to the way others manipulate you, as usual. If I did not value your assistance, I would not be here."

"If you value your life, you'll leave," Jarlaxle said. His chest felt uncomfortably tight. He knew the longer they stood here and talked, the greater the chance was that Lloth's interest would be irrevocably aroused.

Entreri, incredibly, sat cross-legged on the floor. "I won't be leaving without you."

Jarlaxle stared at him.

"My intention is to bring you back to the Surface, and that's what I'll do," Entreri said. He looked up at Jarlaxle calmly. "Don't be so surprised that I haven't lost my resolve as you have. You did say I was hard-headed."

Jarlaxle smiled weakly. "Then you'll spend the rest of your life in a dungeon."

Entreri shrugged.

"You said you would never return here," Jarlaxle said.

"You said the same thing."

Jarlaxle found himself running away. Without remembering exactly how, he'd ended up seated on his throne again. _Why did I come back here?_ It was a blur. He knew he'd had to. But under his friend's scrutiny, that sense of inevitability was no longer enough.

Any icy, creeping presence infiltrated his thoughts. _I want him._

Jarlaxle resisted the urge to leap up. _No! He is leaving._

_He will not. I wish this Entreri to be mine._

_But why?_ Jarlaxle asked.

_Because you covet him so,_ Lloth said cheerfully.

Jarlaxle felt cold.

_You always have such excellent taste._

Jarlaxle shook his head helplessly.

_It is an order._ Lloth cut off communication.

Jarlaxle licked dry lips and spoke up to his servants. "Tell the captain to bring the human prisoner to the chapel. He is to be sacrificed to Lloth."

One of the kobolds scurried off.

Jarlaxle felt ill.

Somehow, he made his way to the chapel. Entreri was already waiting for him, chained to the altar. His friend's dark grey eyes looked up at him, hard and calm. "You won't do this."

Jarlaxle felt the ceremonial dagger in his hand. "I will. I have to. I am sorry that you will never understand." He could feel Lloth's delight in his pain.

"You are Jarlaxle," Entreri insisted. "You always find a way to get what you want."

"Not anymore," Jarlaxle said, his chest burning as though he couldn't draw air.

Entreri's voice sharpened. "Wake up."

"I wish I could." Jarlaxle wondered why they were having this conversation. Why he did not simply get this over and spare himself the pain of dragging it out? "There is nothing to wake up from," he said anyway.

"Look at the doors," Entreri said.

"What?" Jarlaxle looked around. "There are no doors."

"There must be one," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle felt a pressure inside his head. "Stop! You're confusing me."

"Look!" Entreri ordered.

Jarlaxle saw the door to the closet where cleaning supplies were kept.

"There." Entreri was darkly triumphant. "Go through that door, and this will end."

"Go into the closet?" Jarlaxle said blankly.

"You foolish drow, this isn't real. Snap out of it. Has Crenshinibon taught you nothing?" Entreri demanded. "Don't trust your senses. Listen to my voice."

Jarlaxle felt suddenly as though he were trying to wake up from a dream; his body was heavy and disjointed. Everything around him seemed suspect - the light not quite real, the perspective fake, details exaggerated or clouded.

_Run._

The altar flickered in front of him, blocking his path. Jarlaxle felt hot blood dripping on his hand, saw Entreri's corpse, a hole in his friend's chest.

A powerful surge of revulsion and anger broke Jarlaxle's paralysis, and he ran through the altar, flinging open the door and colliding with brooms and mops, kicking over a bucket -

And then he was in the icy hallway of the dungeon, gulping in air.

Jarlaxle turned and saw the door to the empty room hanging open, revealing nothing.

_Because there was nothing._

He leaned against the wall and caught his breath, cursing Fannagrin to the Nine Hells.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Entreri expected a white flash, but all that happened was that he awakened in the last place he remembered being: a low couch in the Maranelli Guild penthouse. He sighed and pushed himself in to a sitting position, something that wasn't as easy as it used to be. He was sixty years old now, and he'd packed on forty pounds, making him overweight but not obese.

Still, he could most certainly tell the difference forty pounds made; he lost his breath in fights sometimes. However, he had no motivation to change his lot. Life held no meaning for him. Besides, he was a lieutenant in the Maranelli Guild, so he was plenty rich enough to eat and drink what he liked when he liked.

And that was exactly why he had a hangover.

Entreri groaned at the sharp pain in his head. Fortunately, the curtains were drawn over the windows, so the light wasn't too bad. He struggled to his feet, sighed, and headed toward the dining hall. He had no idea what time it was, but it didn't matter. The kitchen staff knew to feed him whenever he so desired it. He might not be a great swordsman anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't still kill people. Being average now meant he was on par with the other fighters in the guild. That kept him alive, even if it irked his soul to have slowed down and lost his edge.

The dining room proved to be empty. Entreri hiked up his breeches - his belt had trouble keeping them up on his rounded belly - and then plopped into a chair. A minute later, a young man showed up and took his order. Entreri ordered toast and water. He needed something plain to calm his stomach with, after all.

As he waited, Entreri held his pounding head in his hands. He really knew better than to get into the dwarven whiskey, but it had been his birthday - or rather the day he'd picked out to be his birthday, given he had no idea when it was. Since turning sixty was not something he wanted to celebrate, he'd done his best to erase the day with alcohol. Pasha Maranelli had been more than happy to drink along with him. A good drink was all the two really could share, given they didn't see eye-to-eye, but Maranelli benefited too much from Entreri's reputation to do away with him. And despite Entreri's age, he'd managed to keep his reputation intact.

However, that didn't mean that Entreri wasn't aware of the young guildsmen snickering behind his back, calling him fossilized and fat. One of them would come for him soon, and he wondered if he cared enough to stop the assassin when he struck. Probably not. The whole reason he was in a guild in Memnon instead of Calimport was because he had never been able to overcome his failures in Calimport, but he'd never wanted to return to Memnon. But here he was, old, fat, and miserable.

His senses weren't so far gone that he didn't hear the approach of booted feet, though. He raised his head and, to his utter shock, found Jarlaxle standing by him, complete with purple hat, oversized white feather, high-cut vest, and multi-colored cape.

Jarlaxle grinned at him, and Entreri blurted the first thing that came to mind: "You haven't aged a day!" But that was silly, of course. Jarlaxle was an elf. Two decades were nothing to an elf.

"You have, my friend," Jarlaxle drawled. He was carrying a ferret-headed cane, which he twirled with one hand. "And not for the better, I might add."

Entreri snorted. "I'm human. I'm old. These things happen."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "Sixty does not spell automatic doom for a human - not if you remain active and in shape." He looked Entreri up and down. "Which you have not. And that is why I am here: to rescue you from your miserable life. This is not you. This is not what you wanted, and it's time for you to wake up."

"There are many things I didn't want in my life," Entreri groused. "My life went haywire the moment I accepted Pasha Pook's job to track down Regis. I just didn't know it."

Jarlaxle thunked the head of his cane on the table. "There is no reason for you to not take your life back, even at this stage in the game. It's only too late when you're dead. You were meant for more than this, my friend. You're a great warrior capable of great adventures!"

Entreri stared up at the drow. "I _was_ a great warrior." The days of his greatness had passed through his fingers along with his youth.

"Are," Jarlaxle said. He grinned again. "What if I told you that you could alter your entire fate with a single decision?"

"And what would that decision be?"

Jarlaxle pointed his cane at the door into the kitchen. "Walk through that door."

Pasha Maranelli walked through the door into the dining hall as though Jarlaxle's words had summoned him. "I think not."

Entreri tensed. Something about this situation wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. However, he knew one thing for sure: Maranelli's being here was bad news. Pasha Maranelli was almost half Entreri's age, slim and fit, and he was an accomplished battle mage. Given that Entreri no longer had Charon's Claw and the gauntlet, he never wanted to fight the man. He also didn't want Jarlaxle to have to fight him. Maranelli had taken the guild through his strength, talents, and wit. He was not one to mess with.

"Oh?" Jarlaxle drawled, clearly sizing up the man before him.

"Indeed," Maranelli said, smirking. He tossed his head, making his long, black ponytail sway. "Artemis Entreri belongs to me. I let him remain here as my lieutenant because of what power his reputation brings me, but we both know that it is an indulgence on my part. He is fat, lazy, and old. I keep him supplied with food and liquor and a comfortable place to lay his head, and he keeps my upstart recruits in line. I assure you, he is not for sale."

Jarlaxle's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're right. He is not for sale - because he is not anyone's property." He looked back at Entreri. "Take back control. Walk through that door. You must trust me on that, my friend. If you will only walk through that door, all this will end."

Entreri stood then, but it wasn't to move to the door. It was because he knew Maranelli would attack. "Watch yourself," he hissed.

But Maranelli had already begun weaving signs. Three bolts of blue lightning crashed through the room, and Entreri hurled himself at Jarlaxle, knocking them both to the floor. The spell blasted through the wall behind them.

Entreri rolled off Jarlaxle and struggled to his feet. Jarlaxle was faster, however, hopping back up and snapping out a wand. He released a blast of ice at Maranelli, who defeated it with a flash of fire.

"To the door!" Jarlaxle yelled, whipping out a second wand and unleashing a spray of acid at Maranelli. The pasha dodged and wove new hand signs, summoning a massive bear that charged Jarlaxle.

Entreri began to feel as though what he witnessed wasn't real. He didn't know why the door was so important, but the detail nagged at his mind. He slipped around the table, heading for the kitchen.

Jarlaxle hailed the bear with daggers, but it charged him, crashing into him with heavy swipes of its huge paws. The drow howled as the gashes on his chest erupted with blood. Entreri somehow felt that the last of his hope was dying with Jarlaxle, and he couldn't bear to watch his former friend die. If there was any way to end this by going through that door, then he would.

While Maranelli was still distracted, he ran for the door, yanking it open.

Then, suddenly, he was stumbling into a cold dungeon hallway. A perfectly intact Jarlaxle was leaning against the opposite wall, looking much like Entreri felt: blasted.

Jarlaxle caught him and steadied him.

"For all the Nine Hells," Entreri muttered. He couldn't help patting himself down compulsively, making sure he wasn't fat or old. Finding he was still fit and trim, he exhaled heavily. Then he eyed Jarlaxle. "Are you unharmed?"

Jarlaxle gave him a ghost of a smile. "Perfectly. Though I must admit my ego is bruised by the vision I was forced to endure by Fannagrin's spell."

"Not only yours," Entreri said, frowning. "It would seem each room has a theme, considering we keep implying that our experiences are similar. This room must have been the ego-busting one."

"Fannagrin wished intruders to turn back, no matter what the cost," Jarlaxle agreed. "Each room gets successively worse, targets a more vital weakness in the mind of the interloper. I would guess, based on my experience, that this room was intended to show such a dark future that the trapped individual would be driven insane." He shook his head. "Truly, at his peak, Fannagrin was a powerful wizard."

Entreri nodded in agreement to both assessments. "If each room gets worse, I admit I'm not looking forward to what happens next. The vision of a dark future was disturbing, to say the least."

"We should rest," Jarlaxle said. "Get sleep if possible. Sleep replenishes the mind. We are going to need all of our mental defenses up to face the next room successfully."

Entreri saw the logic in that. He'd heard that sleep was more for the mind than the body, and certainly he felt mentally battered. He withdrew the tent from his belt pouch and tossed it to the floor, telling it to grow. Once it filled the hall, he ordered it to stop and ducked inside. He took off his weapon belt, boots, and cloak, setting them aside, and reclined on the blanket. The tent was much warmer than the dungeon given it was a separate dimension.

Jarlaxle sighed in relief as he entered. He divested himself of his outer garments and took off his boots, then made himself comfortable on a blanket on the other side of the tent, as usual. He curled up on his side and used his arm as a pillow. "A few hours of sleep will make all the difference. I am in no hurry to rush into mental peril without proper precautions." _I hope to stay at your side. I certainly would never sacrifice you,_ he thought but didn't say.

He definitely needed the sleep.

"Indeed." Entreri closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The last two illusions had both shown Jarlaxle being hurt horribly - raped or killed. That the illusions would choose that theme bothered him for several reasons, not the least of which was the suggestion implicit there: his feelings were changing. Deepening. He was not used to feeling empathy or horror on another's behalf. He had lost that capacity as a child, he had thought. But here it was, and it all pointed to an overwhelming conclusion: friendship.

He hoped his feelings were not misplaced.

* * *

Jarlaxle woke several hours later, feeling refreshed and calmer. He sat up and pulled out jerky and crackers. Now that he'd rested, he was also hungry. Entreri was still lying down, but Jarlaxle didn't think the assassin was necessarily sleeping.

He washed his food down with water from his canteen and reflected on how far they'd come: From associates to partners to friends. From the first illusion of monsters to the grueling experience of living a false life.

The Cleansing Stone had to be worth it. He had to make good on his belief that being cut free from Lloth would change his ability to keep his friends.

He didn't want to lose Artemis Entreri.

Entreri stretched and sat up, pulling out his rations as well. He was hungry, after all, and he had no doubt that he'd be using a lot of energy in the next few hours. The jerky was too salty, and the crackers were a touch stale. However, Entreri ultimately didn't care. Food was food. He washed it down with water and then looked to Jarlaxle. "Shall we?"

Jarlaxle nodded, and they stood, redressing quickly. The drow lifted up the flap of the tent and allowed Artemis to exit first, then exited himself. He watched the tent shrink under Entreri's command.

_Soon, everything will be over,_ Jarlaxle told himself. _We'll leave. I'll be free to make my life what I want it to be, and Artemis and I will continue our adventures._

Entreri stowed the tent, then gestured for Jarlaxle to lead the way. After all, he was the one with the magical dust.

Jarlaxle walked to the door as if nothing horrifying lay beyond it and opened it. He grinned at Artemis to cover how he really felt and pulled out his pouch. "Away we go." He blew the dust into the room and watched light flare. A sense of calm and confidence washed over him. _We're close. I can feel it._

Suddenly, he was outside, dry heat licking at his skin, bright sky overhead, and dunes stretched out before him until all detail melted into the horizon.

They had finally returned to Calimshan, he realized. Elation surged in his chest. _I've done it. We've made our return._ In his heart, he'd always wanted to return Artemis Entreri to Calimshan, for he suspected that Entreri truly felt Calimshan was home.

Entreri was standing with his back to Jarlaxle, staring out over the desert. Then he turned to Jarlaxle with a frown. He drew a wooden flute from his belt and snapped it in half, tossing it at Jarlaxle's feet. Then he pulled the bolero from his head and tossed it at Jarlaxle as well. "Farewell, Jarlaxle. Or fare ill. I care not which."

Jarlaxle stared at his friend, all of his elation draining. He could hardly breathe. "Farewell?" _But you've faced the darkness in your past, just as I intended. You've come out on top. You know now that nothing can hold you back, that pain doesn't mean you can't do whatever you want to do. You know your potential. You know - _"We're friends," Jarlaxle said. He grabbed Entreri's hat and took a step forward. "We are and have always been friends."

Entreri glared at him. "Friends? Friends do not manipulate each other. Friends do not make mockeries of each other. King Artemis the First? Really?" He gestured to the flute. "Or a magical item that mentally rapes me? Or forcing me into a battle with a dracolich and then leaving me to defeat it alone? Just which act of friendship are you referring to, my 'friend?'"

Jarlaxle's jaw fell slack as he realized he remembered these incidents. _But . . . it cannot be._ His stomach turned. "I cannot have. I would never - " He stopped short, his smile strained. "This isn't real, is it? This is an illusion. This isn't happening. I am sure of it. We were in a dungeon. A dungeon of illusions. Somewhere there is a door. Artemis, you must help me find it."

Around them were nothing but dunes and sky. He took a few steps in one direction, then another, hardly knowing where to begin. He glanced at his companion. "Artemis, help. Quickly."

Entreri cocked his head. "I think that has to be the weakest ploy I've seen you use yet." He pulled a figurine of a horse from his belt pouch - the summoning item Jarlaxle had given him. "Once I had thought that perhaps I could count you as a friend. If you'd not decided you were my superior in every way, daring to judge yourself a better person than I, maybe we could have been. But you felt you had to teach me the error of my ways, only to reveal the error of yours. You are not, nor have you ever been, my friend. My manipulator, my game master, and my enslaver, yes. But never my friend." He set the figurine on the ground and summoned the magical horse.

Jarlaxle froze, stunned, the accusations filling him with pain. "You cannot believe . . . You don't believe what you're saying." He felt like he couldn't breathe the hot air. "Better than you? When did I ever believe that? Our friendship isn't about which one of us is better than the other. It is our shared interests and our shared understanding."

He knew he risked death, and he still stepped between Artemis and the magical steed. "This is not what it seems! We faced false memories before. Please, khal abbil, question your feelings. Does any of this sound like me? Why would I abandon you to a dracolich when I faced Hephaestus with you? Why would I attempt to give you power when what you wish for most is friendship? Why would I seek to manipulate you into submission when what I admire about you is your independence?"

Even as he spoke, doubt and confusion fogged Jarlaxle's senses. Was the dungeon not simply a dream he'd had last night? Was this not simply the result of the curse of his people? Did it not make perfect sense that Artemis Entreri wanted nothing to do with him?

"Only Jarlaxle knows why Jarlaxle does what he does." Entreri sneered. "What I know is my life shot off course when I met Do'Urden, and it was hijacked completely when I met you. You dragged me to the Underdark to suit your own whims, then used me as a pawn to free Do'Urden. Then you returned to use me as front for Bregan D'aerthe. And then you tricked me into using that damn magical flute. Now Artemis Entreri is dead. He died in Proctor's House." He brushed past Jarlaxle and mounted the nightmare.

_I've killed him._ The crushing wave of horror and disbelief made Jarlaxle nauseated.

Entreri snapped the reins, and the nightmare galloped away, heading out into the desert. Such a creature could not be hurt by the excessive heat and blistering sun, after all.

Jarlaxle stared after him. He sank to his knees in the sand, which was scalding hot, but he found himself scraping his hands in it, clutching mindless handfuls until there were grains under his nails. _Alone. I'm alone._ Coldness bloomed inside of his chest and spread. There was perhaps nothing that he hated more than being alone.

Artemis stepped up from behind him, watching the nightmare as it receded into a black dot on the horizon. The creature had the speed that only otherworldly beasts could have. "Pull yourself together, Jarlaxle. First of all, you aren't given to fits of emotion. Secondly, you have to find the door."

Jarlaxle sucked his breath at the familiar timbre of that calm voice. "What?" He realized he was digging in the sand like a fool and stopped. He watched handfuls of golden sand trickle through his fingers as he released them.

"Focus. You need to focus. The room of illusions is burrowing into your mind." Artemis knelt by him. "Now think: If you would never do such things to me, then how could anything I said be true?" He grimaced. "Well, to be fair, you are guilty of trapping me in Menzoberranzan and then using me to free Do'Urden. But would you really rely on a flute to magically and unnaturally change me rather than trying to work with me person to person? You're too smart to think shortcuts would work on someone as wounded as I am. Also, after your failure in Calimport, would you really try to brazenly steal a Surface kingdom? You're too wise for that. And would you really name me something as pompous as 'King Artemis the First?' Even your taste is better than that."

Laughter bubbled up through the constriction in Jarlaxle's throat. He got to his feet. "I'm ready. Let us find the door."

And suddenly, there was a city at their backs.

Jarlaxle whirled around and stared. The immensity of what they needed to do almost overwhelmed him, but he started forward. "I want the curse to end. I want a real life. A life some insane goddess doesn't repeatedly destroy."

Artemis walked beside him, a calm, collected look gracing his features. "Then by all means, seize what you want. Nothing's going to stop you." He glanced at the city. "The door is not likely to be hidden. In fact, it might even stand out."

Jarlaxle nodded. The gates stood open, no guards to man them. They crossed through, underneath the enormous archway. The city within was much like Calimport, but deserted. Adobe buildings and stairways were everywhere. But, Jarlaxle noted, not a single door.

"Where?" he whispered. "Where would the door be?"

The street they walked was silent.

"You are Jarlaxle," Artemis said. "Logical, intelligent, calm, poised, confident, and in control. Focus. You will find it."

"You're not real, either," Jarlaxle quipped. "You would never be so complimentary." Still, he took it as a good sign that he was being reminded of his better qualities. He thought for a moment. "Though these memories are false, they might contain the key. After all, I have long suspected Artemis Entreri grew up in a poor neighborhood." He steered through the market and headed towards the slums. "This vision is all about you, so I think the key to leaving is where you started."

And because he was fairly certain he was speaking to an illusion, he added, "Once I learned a single fact about the you behind your mask, I wanted nothing more than to be your friend and to help you."

"Be careful how you define 'help,'" Artemis said, "lest you end up watching my back as I ride away. Friends may help even when they are not asked, but some help is good and some bad. You can't override a person's will or lead him somewhere he wouldn't go himself. That will lead only to pain and mental illness."

In this context, the words had to serve as a warning from Jarlaxle to himself.

Jarlaxle hesitated, then he nodded. In spite of himself, he reached out and squeezed this Artemis' shoulder. "I know." He took a deep breath and steadied himself, then continued on.

Finding the hovel that stood apart from the others proved almost anticlimactic, but Jarlaxle knew the test was already over. He walked up to the door and opened it, though it seemed as though any harsh movement could collapse the tent-like pile of sticks and cloth.

"I'll see you on the other side," Jarlaxle said softly, then he stepped through.

Once more, he was in the grey stone dungeon, chilled as though he had been standing in it all along. Of course, he had. The heat had been an illusion.

Looking back at the open door, Jarlaxle wondered what illusion Entreri would have to face.

* * *

_A/N: This story is unabashedly being ironic. While it alludes to events in RotP and later, it is only SotS canon-accurate. The illusions are not prophecies or based on precognition._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

When Entreri regained consciousness, he was lying on the cold stone floor. His body still twitched and ached from the latest round of torture the tiefling had inflicted on him. Had he ever suspected that Charon's Claw had been collecting intel on him, just waiting for its chance to subjugate him, Entreri would have ridded himself of the damn sword long ago.

He sat up slowly, his head pounding and his muscles wobbling. He wiped his nose, suspecting he'd find blood, and he did. He'd known many pains in his life, but this agony was by far the worst.

And the only reason it was happening to him was because Jarlaxle had betrayed him, leaving him in the clutches of the Netherese.

If not for the fact Dwahvel had never betrayed him, Entreri would have cursed himself as a fool to think that friendship was ever real. Instead he just cursed himself for thinking the drow's offer of friendship was real.

With a grunt, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled back to the room he was kept in. He fell onto the bed there, curling onto his side as his muscles spasmed several more times. He could have never imagined his blade was Netherese, never could have never imagined that the Shade would come for it. Never could have never imagined he'd end up enslaved - the one thing he'd fought hardest in his life to never be. All he'd ever wanted from life was freedom and independence. He'd never hoped for joy, love, or friendship. But now even his freedom was lost.

He really thought death was the better fate, and he'd attempted suicide several times. However , since his soul was tied to Charon's Claw, it simply brought him back.

He honestly thought he would die if the sword were destroyed, but that seemed to be his only out. He was willing to accept that, but he needed help to pull it off. The greatest irony of his life was that Drizzt Do'Urden was probably the only one who could help him. But would he?  
It was hard to say. Drizzt would want to destroy the sword simply because it was evil, perhaps. Entreri didn't know what else to think about that. In fact, he wasn't sure of much right now. He felt lost.

Hells, he was so lost he didn't even own his own name any longer. The gods-damned tiefling had renamed him to suit his whims. Named him Barabbas the Grey, in fact – an utterly clunky moniker that didn't remotely fit him. He'd heard it had belonged to a patriotic revolutionary in the Shallowfell – one who had committed murder during an insurrection.

Entreri failed to see the connection between himself and that other Barabbas, that he should be named after the man.

A ghost-like figure walked through the wall and gradually materialized. He wore a broad-brimmed purple hat, a high-cut vest with low slung pants, and tall, black boots. Jarlaxle raised his head, revealing his face, and looked at Entreri with solemn sympathy. "Do you really think this could happen? Is this your worst fear? That you would be enslaved?" He crossed the room and sat down on the bed. "Do you not know how strong you are? Charon's Claw could never overcome you. Also, I have no reason to betray you. I admire you. I saved your life more than once, my friend. Why would I throw that away?"

"To save your life," Entreri said tonelessly. "We were both going to die. You saw the chance to save your life, so you sold me to them. And I was enslaved."

Jarlaxle pulled out his healing orb from his belt pocket and held it over Entreri, softly chanting. Soothing light emanated from the orb.

Entreri didn't resist. He'd always felt that if he saw Jarlaxle again, he would kill him or die trying. However, in this moment, he found he couldn't even muster the anger necessary to do so. "I made sure I was master of Charon's Claw," he murmured. "I saw you with Crenshinibon, and I knew. I knew I had to master the sword. I couldn't rely on the gauntlet. I couldn't take the chance. I would never keep a magical artifact that could enslave me like Crenshinibon did you." He stared at the wall sightlessly. "But it's sentient. It did something I didn't expect: it learned me."

"Artemis Entreri," Jarlaxle said softly, smiling. "You shut down an artifact such as Crenshinibon with ease, but you fell prey to Charon's Claw? Don't be ridiculous. Please, do not do yourself this disservice." Then he gestured to the room. "All around us is an illusion. Fannagrin's spell plants memories in your mind. Gives you pain that is not real. Pummels you with unpleasant emotions. But you will defeat it, will you not?" The drow pointed, and suddenly there was a closet door. A closed, wooden door with an aged brass knob. "You perceive everything. No magic can fool you."

Jarlaxle stood. "I could never fool you, either. What makes you think I am clever enough to win your trust if I did not earn it? You are a better judge of people than that."

Entreri stared up at the drow. He couldn't really argue Jarlaxle's words, and something else bothered him as well: he'd known all along that Charon's Claw was sentient and demonic. Why would he ever trust the sword? Would he not be suspicious of it? Get rid of it the moment he suspected anything was up? There were plenty of other powerful swords; it wasn't like he'd ever believe he had to have this one.

Plus Jarlaxle had called to mind an event from long ago: a dungeon they'd visited that had been full of illusions. Could this be another illusion? Had all the intervening decades never passed?

Was he, in fact, still free?

Entreri climbed off the bed, finding he was healed. For a moment more, he stared at Jarlaxle, then he marched straight for the door. If he was still free, if this was an illusion, he wanted out immediately.

He would never trade anything for his freedom. Ever.

Entreri grabbed the knob, turned it, and threw the door open. Suddenly he was standing in the dungeon, and Jarlaxle - the real Jarlaxle - was standing just a foot away in the hallway.

Entreri exhaled with undisguised relief. _Gods, that was the worst thing I could ever have imagined._

Jarlaxle started forward at the sight of him and wrapped him in an embrace. "I believed in you. I knew you would make it. But I admit I was worried."

Once again, Entreri accepted the hug. He found he couldn't reject it. He felt as though the center of his chest had been blasted through by a magical arrow. "You were there again." That was all he could say about it in this moment.

"So were you," Jarlaxle whispered. He hugged Entreri tightly. "Both of you." He realized that didn't make sense without context, but he couldn't explain. _What if I was never allowed to this again?_

Jarlaxle paused, then continued. "I have a plan. A plan about you." He forced himself to take a deep breath; the images from the illusion were still too fresh in his mind. "Calimshan is your home. I want you to go back someday. I want to be with you. As your friend. I want you to live successfully there, without the dark shadows of the past lingering over everything. This end goal may be a long way away, but I want you to know I have every intention of helping you return to Calimshan." Then he realized an important part of his message to himself. "If you would ever like to return to Calimshan, that is."

Entreri found Jarlaxle's entire response to be mysterious, and he leaned back so he could see Jarlaxle's face. "Very well. I don't know yet where I want to go, but I will keep your offer in mind." Returning to Calimport right now would be impossible, after all.

Jarlaxle felt unsteady. He had been taxed more than he had realized. Gazing back at his friend made him feel such complicated things. Being drow, he knew he didn't necessarily understand how to handle his feelings. "Artemis, wherever you want to go, I'll help. I'd never attempt to lead you where you do not want to go." He looked away.

Entreri understood then that the illusion had been directly about him, just as his own illusion had heavily relied on Jarlaxle. However, there was clearly one major difference: while Entreri's vision had involved Jarlaxle's betrayal, Jarlaxle had apparently seen one that showed him betraying Entreri. In a sense, their illusions were both similar and opposite. "The illusionary Jarlaxle said that I was seeing my worst fear," he murmured, and certainly being enslaved via Charon's Claw to a sadistic tiefling qualified as one of his worst case scenarios. But why would Jarlaxle's worst fear to be betray him?

It couldn't be that, Entreri knew. Just like his worst fear wasn't Jarlaxle's betrayal. Rather, the betrayal itself had to led to one of their worst fears.

Jarlaxle was shocked at the straightforward comment. "Then clearly your subconscious mind discerned what was going on. The sleep before this obstacle paid off." The rest had probably paid off for him as well. He didn't know that he would have gotten through the obstacle otherwise. "The trouble is that Fannagrin apparently spent much time learning how to tap into someone's senses and get into their mind to make them believe what was happening. For the several minutes the scenario I was subjected to played out, it was very real. Very real indeed."

"I can unfortunately agree with that." Entreri did not care to ever have such an experience again.

"There were several aspects of the illusion that were disturbing," Jarlaxle said. Even as he thought back on it, his mind skittered away from the concept that he should ever be rendered utterly alone. "But part of it was the implication that, regardless of my intentions, I would destroy you."

Entreri cocked his head then, smirking. "Am I not replaceable?"

"There is only one Artemis Entreri," Jarlaxle said.

Entreri snorted. However, it was not lost on him that Jarlaxle's belief that he was cursed had played into the contents of the illusion.

Jarlaxle crossed the distance between them in one step and squeezed Entreri's shoulder. "No, it is true, khal abil. And I knew that I could remain with you from the moment you shared the reason for your disgust with Spirit Soaring. Above all else, beyond the business opportunities our alliance represents, we have something much more precious. We have a friendship."

Entreri was surprised to hear that his comment about priests had somehow had an impact; after all, he'd just been sharing his observations.

As for the declaration of friendship . . . it was something he very much wanted to believe. Granted, they seemed to be building a foundation, but time would tell if it held. In the meantime, Entreri knew quite well that he could never say no to an offer of friendship, especially when he found Jarlaxle so compelling. He reached out and squeezed Jarlaxle's shoulder in return.

A large smile broke out over Jarlaxle's face. "If there be any more illusions, we will face them together. Seeing projections of each other in the illusion proves we have control. If we have control, then we can stick together."

Entreri wasn't sure it was that simple, but he nodded anyway. Given the turn the illusions had taken, he would prefer to have the real Jarlaxle fighting alongside him.

"Hold onto my arm when I attempt to activate the illusion," Jarlaxle suggested. "Maintaining physical contact is likely one way to make sure we stay together."

Entreri nodded again. It seemed to be a reasonable plan. "Very well. Let's get this done."

Jarlaxle led the way to the door and opened it. His eyes widened. There, temptingly placed on an elaborate pedestal, was a glowing white stone. He steeled himself. _If this is real, I will have it._ He pulled out his pouch of dust, unwilling to cut corners at the end, took a pinch, and offered Entreri his free hand.

Entreri had meant to grasp Jarlaxle's arm, but he decided not to argue. He took Jarlaxle's hand, his gaze on the stone inside. He couldn't deny that he would likely seen an indirect benefit from this venture.

Jarlaxle blew the dust into the room. A white light blinded him. He clutched at the assassin's hand tightly. _We will stay at each other's side._

When the flare faded, they were in a large study. Bookshelves and tables were spread willy-nilly, covered in scrolls and tomes. An enormous desk held papers, inks, and crystals. A large, arched window looked out on rolling green fields in the afternoon sun.

Jarlaxle glanced at Entreri and knew immediately that he was standing next to the real Artemis Entreri. He let go of the assassin's hand and drew his wand on the figure sitting at the desk.

In rich blue, velvet robes was a familiar figure, though his light brown hair was not streaked with grey. Incredibly, the wizard still wrote in his book, undeterred by their presence.

Entreri drew his sword, holding it in his left hand so his gauntlet would be free. No doubt he was going to have to fight Fannagrin again.

Just as Jarlaxle thought there had been some mistake, Fannagrin spoke. "So, you have made it past all my other illusions. Why?"

Jarlaxle tightened his grip on his wand and vowed to throw daggers at the slightest provocation. "Why does it matter to you, O Illusion?"

Fannagrin turned in his chair and smirked at them. "Very clever. Yes, like all the other visions, I am an illusion. If you suffered through all the rooms, you must want the Stone quite badly. Again, the question is: Why?" He stroked his beard.

"Why have you guarded the Cleansing Stone so vigilantly?" Entreri shot back.

Fannagrin raised an eyebrow and stood. "It was a mistake to dig up the Stone. My king's surveyors found an area of the land where the gods seemed blind. I traced that anomaly to the Cleansing Stone. I believe it to be part of another world or some shard of cursed material left over from an ancient battle. Typically such battles leave areas of wild magic. But this stone could have been created that way." His frown grew to a scowl. "I found the hard way that one's ties to one's deity are severed on contact. It is a poison. That stone can spell the doom of all life on Toril. You mean to spread such poison around?"

Jarlaxle decided that he had to try telling the truth. "I live under the curse of an evil goddess. A demon queen, actually. The Cleansing Stone is the only way to get out from underneath her shadow and live a normal life." He glanced at Entreri. "For all that I know, my partner is suffering due to a similar situation. There are many like myself, entrapped in webs they cannot cut."

Entreri doubted any goodly gods were watching out for him, considering the events of his childhood. He knew his mother had prayed to Selune, and she had taught him to as well. However, he had not done so since he was nine. If Selune had ever cared about him, he would not have suffered so greatly.

Jarlaxle eyed Fannagrin warily. He wondered if an illusion could truly be reasoned with.

The wizard was indeed silent for a long time.

Jarlaxle used Drow hand signals to say to Artemis, _I think we broke it._

Entreri considered the situation for a moment. _We don't have to take the Stone,_ he signed back. _All you have to do is touch it._ Fannagrin wasn't wrong on one count, after all: the Stone would be highly dangerous in the hands of the wrong person. Some people wanted their gods.

_I never planned to._ Jarlaxle looked back to Fannagrin. "If you are capable of deals, consider this: we only want to touch the Stone. We will not take it. Your safeguards are wise, and it is not for me to consider the price one should pay for such magic. Let others brave the illusions as well if they truly desire their freedom."

Suddenly, they were in the chamber of the Cleansing Stone. Jarlaxle took an instinctive step back. Then hope surged in his chest. He couldn't help going up to the glowing stone. As he approached, he felt the air change. He grew lighter somehow. Safer.

That change motivated him to touch the Cleansing Stone. His eyes flew wide at the surge of energy. Floodgates of white light opened, soaking him through. He stumbled back and looked at himself. Then he looked at Entreri.

"I seem no different, but I feel . . . " Jarlaxle shook his head. He swallowed. "For the first time . . . I know She isn't watching."

Entreri found a small smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. He'd never before witnessed someone actually gain their freedom, actually escape a piece of the hell life offered. "Then it was worth it," he said quietly.

Jarlaxle ran to him and hugged him, ecstatic.

Entreri stumbled back a step from the force of Jarlaxle's enthusiasm. He'd never imagined being hugged three times in one day, but he understood Jarlaxle was too giddy with his newfound freedom to contain himself. He snorted faintly. It felt weird, but it wasn't dangerous. Given enough time, he might actually adjust to it.

Jarlaxle thumped him on the back and let him go. "You should try it. If there is even a slight chance that this can help, you have to touch the Cleansing Stone."

Entreri stared at the Stone. Although he was well aware that his mother had prayed to Selune, he had no idea who his step-father and uncle had prayed to. Given the level of sickness they had both revealed, there was some chance they might have followed an evil deity. Not to mention that during his years in Calimport, someone could have prayed to any number of evil deities to curse him. "Very well." He walked up to the Stone and touched it.

A surge of energy and light poured into Entreri, and he gasped as he felt something being burned off. He released the Stone and turned to Jarlaxle, eyes wide. "There was something. I don't know what. But something."

Jarlaxle thought he might never see such an expression on Artemis Entreri's face. He crossed over to the assassin and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "I'm glad. I know that this cannot fix everything, but this is the beginning of something new. For both of us."

Entreri took a deep breath and nodded. "I think I actually believe you." Hope was not an emotion he was well acquainted with, but this seemed promising.

Jarlaxle patted his shoulder and let go, grinning. The drow mercenary turned his gaze to the door.

Fannagrin stood there, looking in at them. "Because you have told the truth, you may leave this place alive."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the illusion.

"Always an added benefit," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle laughed. "Although I would hate to have to traverse the illusions again."

"There is no way to trigger the illusions from this side," Fannagrin said. "The rooms only operate in one direction. I never foresaw that anyone would have reason to reach the inner chamber."

"Obviously," Jarlaxle said dryly.

On the way back, the rooms were nothing but empty stone chambers, exactly as they appeared. In minutes, they ascended to the ground level, where the castle walls crumbled and the sun shone over the hills.

Jarlaxle took a deep breath of fresh air. He gazed out across the sunlit world. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Entreri glanced at the horizon. "It's much the same as any other sunset." But even as he said the words, he wasn't sure that was true. He felt light-weight from whatever curse had been lifted from him. Somehow, the sunlight seemed warmer to him now, and although he found it to be an odd effect, he couldn't deny that he'd noticed it.

Jarlaxle grinned and teased him, "I will keep saying that whether you agree with me or not. If ever you change your mind, the admission will cost you nothing."

Entreri shot him a sideways glance, but a smile played about his lips.

Jarlaxle knew that he would have many, many years still to tell Artemis Entreri the world was beautiful. Their adventures had only just begun.

* * *

_A/N: Thus launching an AU in which both Artemis and Jarlaxle can actually get what they want._

_I'd like to add more stories to this and make it a series, but I have a lot of ideas and a limited amount of time, so we'll see._

_Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed!_


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